


Undercover Heart

by wintergrey



Series: Marvel Snax [8]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1590890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintergrey/pseuds/wintergrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Natasha are on a mundane assignment undercover at an embassy ball—it goes nearly smoothly but Natasha finds out that the cover story she's trying to tell about her heart might be slipping. In short, a little schmoop for Roane, who is squeeful about her new fandom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undercover Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roane/gifts).



“Don’t say anything.” Nat stalks into the mission room, eyes on the dossier displayed on the screen instead of anywhere else, like Sam’s face. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“Have to be able to think to speak,” Sam says, and there’s an undercurrent of laughter in his voice—at himself or at her, she’s not sure. “And the way you, look, well... Starting to think I’m the wrong man for this job.” 

“Why?” All her irritation at having her hair bleached blonde is gone in an instant. She turns to look at him—he’s dressed to go, dressed to kill in a sharp tux that brings out the breadth of his shoulders. Leaning against the back wall, in the shadows, he looks like something out of the black and white movies she loves. 

“No one’s gonna believe a guy like me is with someone like you for anything but nefarious reasons.” His smile is light, self-deprecating.

“I guess you’d better step up your game, Wilson. If you give us away because I’m too hot for you, well...” 

“I’ll do my best.” Sam straightens and holds out his hand to her, like she’s a lady. “Sam Wilson doesn’t let his country or his partner down.”

“Good man.”

 

Nat’s done dozens of these gigs. Big party, famous names, glittering chandeliers, flowing champagne, ulterior motives. The compliments are ones she’s heard before, the gossip is always the same except for the names that always change. Embassies are always easy. After an hour she’s already got a plan in mind and usually she’d be chafing at the bit, anxious for time to pass so she could get things done and get out. But tonight it’s different and she can’t say why until she glances over on yet another scan of the room and catches Sam’s gaze on her—where it has been all night. And that’s why. 

“Can’t take your eyes off of me?” She isn’t going to pass up the chance to tease. Usually her partners are looking for danger, trying to protect her, trying to do her job for her, and Sam, Sam just doesn’t seem interested in any of that. 

“I wouldn’t trust a man who could. Besides, I learn more from watching you than from watching the rich and famous. Dance?” 

“I guess I have the time.” 

They’re halfway around the dance floor—Sam is more than competent, which is a nice surprise—before he says anything. “How long have we got?”

“We’ll need to move upstairs in the next hour, the shift just changed and they’re doing their walkthrough.” She likes to let a new shift of guards settle in before she moves. After the walkthrough, they’re usually caught up in adminstrative crap for the first hour or so—it’s a constant in the business. “See anyone we know?”

“I did.” Sam flashes her a grin that’s a little more wolfish than she’s used to. “Don’t worry, he didn’t recognize me without the wings.”

“Must be a special guy if you remember his face.” Natasha lets him spin her—the world blurs into a kaleidoscope of white and gold and light—then pull her back in. 

“He is.” Sam’s fingers trace a path up to her arm to a narrow scar just above her elbow. It’ll fade with time but right now she has to cover it with makeup. “He gave you this. How could I forget him?”

It’s not like him to be macho and overprotective and, instead of making her irritated, it worries her. Something must show on her face because he half-laughs and shakes his head at her.

“You drew his fire to let me get better cover. That one’s on me,” he says. “I don’t forget my debts.”

“What was that you were saying about a guy like you and a woman like me?” Natasha doesn’t get the rest of the thought out because he spins her around again and then whirls her back into the dance.

  

“Just one more minute.” No one uses real locks anymore. It’s all card keys and RFID chips and biometrics. Tony’s ‘pocket hacker’ is good but the price of it being nearly universal is that it’s a little slow.

“Guard,” Sam hisses, when she’s got thirty seconds left on it. “Guy couldn’t remember to go before his shift.” She’d been praying that distant sound wasn’t a toilet flushing. Bastard must have been in there a while for them to miss him.

“Twenty seconds.” Natasha isn’t going to drop this whole setup just because some guard’s Metamucil kicked in at the wrong time. 

“Time’s up.” Even as Sam says it, he pulls her up and puts her back to the door all in one motion. She stops herself before she instinctively knees him in the groin and she is so glad she does because he’s kissing her—really, really well. His mouth is hot in a way that leaves her wanting more and kissing him back instinctively to get it.

It’s not only the kiss. It’s the way his thumb rests against her jaw and his strong fingers follow the curve of her neck with just enough tension in his hand that he’s deliberately tipping her head back so he can kiss her. His other hand is in the small of her back to pull her against him. It’s how he works, with barely-perceptible, perfectly-applied pressure that shapes things—events, opinions, emotions... her—so the result feels _right_ even when it’s unexpected.

Natasha needs one hand to hold the hacker steady, slides the other under his jacket and up his back just in case she needs the plastic pistol he’s carrying there. That leaves her off balance and completely at his mercy. When the thought crosses her mind, it makes her so ridiculously weak in the knees she’s glad he’s holding her up.

“He’s gone,” Sam says, as why they’re really here is fading from her awareness. The hacker hums against her palm, bringing her all the way back to the present. 

“You’re a player, Wilson,” she says, swallowing hard as she opens the door behind her to give herself an escape route. 

“You’re figuring this out _now_? I thought you were a spy or something.” His grin would be wicked, except—

“You have my lipstick on your teeth.”

“Goddamn it,” he closes the door behind them with one hand, pulls out a handkerchief with the other. “Why do they advertise it as _stay on_ when it comes off on everything?”

“If it makes you feel better, my stay-ups aren’t exactly staying up either.” Natasha digs a tiny data-leech out of the inner lining of her bodice, then pulls a small plastic screwdriver out of her blonde up-do. 

“Don’t suppose you’re wearing stay-up underwear.” Sam cruises past her to the window, scanning the room for any spyware that doesn’t belong to them. 

“Who says I’m wearing underwear?” Natasha waits for the hitch in his breathing and, when she gets it, allows herself a quiet laugh while she’s taking apart the laptop docking station on the desk.

 

“That was a disappointing evening.” The polished floors at HQ are cold under Natasha’s sore feet. Her glittering shoes dangle from one hand, her other hand is tucked in the crook of Sam’s arm. “Not nearly enough danger.”

“Sorry you didn’t get to shoot anyone.” Sam pulls the gun out from between his shoulderblades—it’s a thin, flat thing that looks like a child’s toy but it packs a hell of a punch thanks to the power supply in the grip. “I’d offer to let you shoot me but I’m kind of fragile and human. You could ask Tony, though.”

“Pepper would object,” Natasha says, feigning a deep sigh.

“Steve?”

“Bucky would object.”

“Caught that, did you?” Sam tosses the gun so that it flips twice in the air before coming back to his hand. “Though, if we wanted to flush him out...” 

“If you suggest that to Fury, I _will_ shoot you.” 

“I don’t take such things lightly.” Sam steps ahead so that her hand slides down his arm and into his hand. He spins her through a pirouette and into the mission room before he lets her go. “A good heart shouldn’t be a plaything.”

“Good thing I don’t have a good heart.” Natasha comes to rest against the mission desk where she drops her shoes on top of the data pad waiting for her report. “You can play with it all you like.”

The gun lands next to her shoes and then Sam is kissing her again, not the way he did back at the embassy, calculated and effective, but better. Better because it’s hot and messy, like he means it, like he actually wants her instead of just doing a good job of keeping their cover. She pushes his jacket off his shoulders and pulls him close with it at the same time, wanting both at once and somehow he gets out of the sleeves so that she can have her way.

He shoves her dress up as she wraps her thighs around his hips and she knows right then he’s all hers, that he’s not going to stop until she tells him to. They could get caught—even though it’s the middle of the night, this business never sleeps. He knows that as well as she does. He’s giving her the thrill she’s looking for maybe because he wants it, needs it, as much as she does. Maybe just because he wants _her_. 

Natasha can’t think again, not when he’s got one hand tight in her hair and one hand tight on her hip and his mouth is on her throat. His tongue is hot, his teeth are sharp, and she wants nothing more than for him to leave a mark. Bobby pins from her ruined updo hit the desk with tiny sounds almost lost under the rasp of their heavy breathing and the grating noise of his zipper as she pulls it down. 

Sam’s cock is hard against her palm when she frees it from his pants. Substantial. Exactly what she needs. He stops kissing her ear to whimper into it when she slides her thumb over the velvety head. When she tightens her thighs, he pulls her to the edge of the desk to meet him. No hesitation, no talking. He’s perfect, better than perfect when he’s inside her.

She winds herself around him, arms around his shoulders, mouth on his, taking advantage of everything he offers her. He gets both hands on her hips in a grip so tight she knows it’ll bruise, nearly lifts her up off the desk as he fucks her. She comes before she’s ready for it to be over, her sharp cry that escapes their kisses is half pleasure and half frustration, but it’s still so good. 

Orgasm sweeps away the stale tension left from the night’s work, leaves her nerves sated and calm. He’s quiet when he comes, he kisses her hard and holds onto her until it’s over and his body is still against her. When she pushes at his shoulder, he retreats without resistance and puts himself back together without comment. Natasha likes him more than she wants to.

“Not going to try and convince me I really have a good heart?” She takes his handkerchief to tidy up a little—enough to get her back to her quarters. “Most men do.”

“I _know_ you do but I’m guessing no man’s really ever convinced you of anything you weren’t ready to believe.” Sam shakes his jacket out but doesn’t put it back on. He drapes it around her shoulders instead. It smells like him, good and safe. “I’m not going to insult you by trying. You should be careful, though.” 

“Why’s that?”

“I plan to treat you like it’s true.” He tugs her closer with his jacket and kisses her gently. “Spend too much time around me and you might start to believe it.”

 


End file.
